The King's Grace
by omishiloh
Summary: King Elessar asks for a blessing. Edited 6/30/12.


Foreword: I was inspired by _River of Dreams_, written by **Larner** (under my "favorite authors" list). It is beautiful, in terms of both and content, though most of **Larner**'s work is in general. I highly recommend you go check it out, if you can.

Disclaimer: This universe does not belong to me and never will. However, Erulissë is my fictional daughter for Eldarion, and Aragorn's personal effects are described in the prologue of my story _Letters from War._

Warnings: Somewhat AU. Heavily spiritual.

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He could feel it in the heartbeat of his youngest granddaughter, as he cradled her close. The warmth of the babe spread to his chest, and briefly, Elessar could feel the strength of his younger years. Oh, to be here with his son, as he raised his family…but those moments were not to be his.

A gesture to a servant bade Eldarion wait in the corridor outside his chamber, for this was to be a private moment. If asked, he would answer his son, but until then, only Eru was to bear witness.

He moved toward the door next to his wardrobe, one not easily visible in the daylight. It led to a small chamber accessible only by himself or, rarely, his wife. It was as airy as the white stone allowed, and this particular stonemason had crafted a large arched window, through which Anor's rays danced in every season.

Opposite the window was a carved depiction of the White Tree in full bloom. The Seven Stars of Gondor were above it, in-laid gems from the Glittering Cave as a good-will gift, from Eomer King. The depiction had been added later, originally a belated Midsummer surprise from his family. He had told no one where he put it, but made it known that the gift had truly moved him.

Adjoining the door was a painting of a flower growing amidst a set of decaying trees. Painted by a near friend, it served in memory of the day hope was restored, and also as testament to the friendship that hope transformed.

Below the White Tree, his personal effects were stored, though the small chest had been moved to a corner pedestal where it would receive the most light. The pedestal bore also a vase with the first bloom of the White Tree this year, in honor of the Steward's family.

Yet the aspect of the room that Aragorn was drawn to now was the one remaining wall that to the present day was blank. All that was against it was a woven mat (and that on the floor), worn in places from the many moments he had knelt to walk in spirit with Eru.

He knelt for what he knew would be the last time. The babe he placed before him, being sure to gently lower her to the ground. Then he shed his kingly mien, and became, as he only did within this room, the mere Ranger Aragorn, seeking guidance.

He had to shed his kingliness, for only humbled could he approach the feet of the Maker of the Secondborn. As a younger man, he would seek out the wisdom of Eru on matters of war, and later, rebuilding. Today it was to seek His blessing.

Aragorn took the baby's hand in his right; his left was on the babe's chest. He sought her heartbeat again; good, steady and strong it was, making him smile tenderly. The young one would have no difficulty walking with Eru, then. He moved his hand a little lower, to her stomach; if they did not breathe as one, their spirits would be unable to find each other, much less the path to Eru.

He closed his eyes and began to breathe slowly.

Some minutes later he opened his eyes to discover that he was, indeed, on the path to Eru. In this place of Paths, one's form was not the form it was on Arda; it was its True Form, the essence seeking Eru. He was the bright green of the Elessar stone of his House, gleaming. The babe, he noticed with increasing delight, was with him, though her form was at first unfamiliar. She was resplendent in the colors of the earth: vivid browns, greens, and a singular dark gold that brought together the rich earth of Gondor and the fields of Rohan. Without speaking, he reached for her and she willingly clasped his hand.

Aragorn did not know how long he walked with her, or how long it took to reach the gate to Eru's Country. He knew, however, the moment Eru came to walk with them: it was the sound of ringing trumpets, like those that called him home to Minas Tirith. Where those trumpets faded, however, these echoed in his being. The closer Eru drew, the more powerful and resonant the sound. He knelt instinctively, before a touch brought his head upward for scrutiny. He could see, barely, his granddaughter beside him, not kneeling, but looking curiously in front of her.

Eru appeared differently, though always distinctly, with each walk Aragorn took with Him. More often than not, Eru's form mirrored the emotions felt in Aragorn's heart, so as to help Aragorn confront himself and be drawn closer to His understanding. Now Eru took on a noble face with tempered Joy and Sorrow.

"My children." He motioned them forward.

The Outer Gardens surrounding the gate were beautiful, filled with all of Eru's creations as He intended them. Flowers had fuller blooms, some as large as two hand-spans; lining their current path were what looked like a variation of niphredil. Trees were broader than he was tall, and reached beyond his sight, in a blend of rich reds and browns. Little critters bounded about with more energy that Aragorn had ever seen, but not with the same tension, the same fear of predators. He did not see any larger than a housecat; for that, he supposed, he would have to tread farther up and farther in. As it was, there was such life here that it could easily keep one occupied for as long as one needed. Colors were enhanced here, he noticed, bold and jewel-like, but not disorienting. More…balanced, he thought to himself, like a painter finding the perfect colors.

Despite having walked here before, he still had limited knowledge of the gardens' purpose. A waiting place, for spirits' respite before entry to the Country, and for broken spirits' healing. Beyond that, Eru only knew.

Eru drew him out of his reverie by indicating the two to sit. Aragorn looked around to see a golden meadow, similar to the barley fields he'd seen in Rohan. Butterflies flitted nearby and his granddaughter, rather than accepting the invitation to sit, leapt away to dance with the creatures.

The effect was instantaneous: Eru's face was suffused by a smile. "Ever will she be drawn to my Messengers," He said as Aragorn sat next to Him. "This is well." For a time, they watched her move about freely and unafraid.

She eventually danced over to where they sat, and without any hesitation, crawled into Eru's lap. As she shifted to make herself comfortable, she inquired, "Might I call you friend?"

"Friend, indeed!" His laughter rang out, and Aragorn felt the thrills of pure joy deep in his being. "You may always call me Friend, for I am ever Yours to call."

His granddaughter nodded in satisfaction. "Then I shall call, and often." Her voice was as a bell, resonant and true, and Aragorn felt a pang that he would never hear it in waking life.

"Sorrow, Aragorn?" Eru's voice was reminiscent of the thunderstorms he loved as a child, magnificent but piercing.

"I weary of days," Aragorn admitted, tying some grass together. "I yearn for rest, but my heart mourns for those who will not understand my returning the Gift to You." His son's wife, who though was as another daughter, came from the Rohirric nobility, and was unfamiliar with it. The general populace, too, he mourned leaving behind, for they thrived under his care. Remembering the unrest of the War, they had sought, for once, true peace. Foremost was his beloved Arwen: he knew that his passing would realize her doom.

"So much will I not see," he continued, "and so much might be undone. I do not know what Eldarion might face, or his son, or his son's son. Have I fulfilled my destiny for naught?"

The question hung in the air, and Aragorn took a breath to ease the pain-for pain could be felt, here in the gardens. They were, after all, not yet in Eru's Country. Taking the breath helped, at least, for the air was sweet and restful.

"That is not your story," was the rebuke. "You have completed what I have set before you; rejoice in it, Aragorn, for you have achieved much. Not the least of which-" here, Eru gazed long at the being in his lap-"is creating a legacy that will never fail."

Aragorn accepted the rebuke with an incline of his head. If the Maker of Arda forbade him to worry for those he was leaving behind, then he would worry not. Aragorn prayed, then, to cast the sorrow aside, and in its place instead he asked for joy.

"That is well done," he heard. "But you have another request you would rather be filled first. Ask, and ye shall receive."

"My granddaughter has yet to be named and become an official member of the House of Telcontar. I ask for Your blessing."

"You have done so before with your children and grandchildren, yet You never walked with them to Me."

"I did not feel the need. Their paths to you are different," Aragorn answered honestly. "I am responding to Your call."

"Are you quite sure, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, son of Mine?"

Aragorn responded firmly. "I am, my Liege."

Eru surveyed him wordlessly. Aragorn did his best not to flinch under the eyes of his Maker. He recalled only once before where he had been able to withstand the gaze as surely as he did now, the moment when he accepted fully who he was.

There was a long, slow nod. "You have heard My call, and come forth. I am pleased, my son. Very, very pleased."

His granddaughter beamed up at him, obviously proud, and Aragorn couldn't help but beam in return. Eldarion had been nervous to let his daughter accompany Aragorn, especially as she was so little and new. Aragorn had been steadfast, however, and his son eventually yielded.

During the course of the conversation, she had been tying grass together, not anxiously as her grandfather, but deliberately. She had created what looked to be a golden circlet, with a pretty knot at the forefront. In the reflective silence, she crowned Him "the Best Friend of All."

Eru laughed again, and hugged her fiercely. "So I am, little one." The conversation lighter, they spoke of the wonders of the gardens, as his little granddaughter was awed and enchanted- especially by the butterflies.

When Aragorn started to feel pains in his knees, however, he knew it was time to leave. His spirit could only stay away from his body for so long, and his granddaughter especially should return. With a nod to Eru, they both stood, Aragorn stretching a little, and Eru swinging his granddaughter in His mighty arms. As they walked, Eru began to sing. Later, he would remember not the tune, but the pictures it created, of dawn breaking and the earth awakening beneath it. Aragorn could not refrain from joining in, and not a moment later, his granddaughter did as well, sounding a harmony unknown to Arda.

They reached Eru's gate, and his granddaughter was set down carefully. She patiently waited as Aragorn embraced his Best Friend – the nomer was a good one- in farewell.

"Ye have asked, and ye shall receive," murmured his Friend. Aragorn almost stumbled in stepping away to let his granddaughter have her turn. While he sought to compose himself, Eru stooped to his granddaughter and whispered in her ear. She grinned broadly, and turned to her grandfather, who started when she took his hand.

"Do you want to tell him?" Eru asked her, great love in His countenance. She wriggled with excitement, and tugged on Aragorn's hand, to bring him level with her.

"Grandfather," –it was the first (and last) time she would name him, in that melodic voice-"my name is Erulissë."

With that simple pronouncement, his being lit up, much as the real life stone had in his hands. His granddaughter was blessed by Eru, sharing his very name!

Aragorn bowed, speechless. Eru surveyed him, eyes twinkling. With one hand raised, He bade him, "Go forth and name her thus. She is My child, and she will walk with me even as you have these long years."

To his granddaughter He said, "You and I have much to look forward to, little one. Go forth in joy, my daughter, and be so named." She nodded, eyes shining.

They clasped hands. Turning, Aragon picked up Erulissë and began to walk the path, feeling Eru's joyous gaze on him all the way. But for the weakening tie to the Paths, and the return of joint-pain, he would dance with her all the way home.

Several minutes later, Aragorn felt an ache in his knees as his spirit settled back into his body. The babe- Erulissë!-opened her eyes and held his own. They were reminiscent of his mother's brown eyes, though they had Eldarion's shape.

"Eru, I bless this child even as You command; she is Erulissë, a daughter and beloved Child. She has called You Friend. May she always call you so, and may You always answer in return."

He breathed the prayer as he stood, holding this new child of Eru's close to his heart. She was precious to him, and, he knew, to Eldarion as well. How well Eldarion would be pleased! He strode quickly, but gently, mindful of Erulissë, out of the chamber. Before he had quite left, he turned to survey the room one last time. With the sun setting, it was achingly beautiful; most beautiful of all, however, was the light illuminating Erulissë's brow, a familiar dark gold. Peace washed over Aragorn: all would be well.


End file.
